


Pain is So Close to Pleasure

by TheNightComesDown



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Canada, Cute, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Hospitals, Nurses & Nursing, a little bit of smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-01-06 18:44:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18394175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNightComesDown/pseuds/TheNightComesDown
Summary: While on shift at the hospital, you bump into Joe Mazzello (literally), who is visiting his BoRhap co-star Ben Hardy after a skiing accident.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The hospital in my story is based on a place I did a clinical rotation, but is not in Calgary, Canada, and is not real. 
> 
> Also, one Canadian term you'll need to know for this story: Tim Horton's (a.k.a. Tim's or Timmie's) is the most popular coffee/donut restaurant in Canada. There are as many Tim's in Canada as there are grains of sand on a beach.

Day shift was dragging by more slowly than it ever had before. All the patients on your unit were stable, so there was no need to check vital signs every 15 minutes, and everyone on pain meds had been topped up within the last hour. Your buddy nurse was knitting beside you, something she tended to do on particularly slow days. The boredom you felt by the end of a 12-hour shift was literally painful.

“I’m going to go refill the water pitcher,” you told her, standing up from the nursing station desk and stretching your arms above your head. “Am I good to go on break after that?” 

“Yep,” she replied, not looking up from the afghan she was working at. “Hope nobody dies while you’re gone.” You rolled your eyes; it seemed pretty unlikely that any of your patients, all of whom were in for relatively minor issues, would code in the 2 minutes you’d be off the unit. 

Snagging the empty water pitcher from the table where all the medications for your unit were prepared, you waltzed off down the hall towards the “kitchen” – if it could be called that at all. The family medicine department at your hospital occupied an entire floor, and was separated into eight small, 10-bed units. There was a single room for patients’ food and drink preparation, which included a fridge filled with calorie supplement drinks, a water dispensing machine, an electric kettle for making tea or instant coffee, and a shelving unit that held bins of clean lidded cups for patient use. It also had a broken microwave, and a drawer filled with assorted jams and jellies (never the kind your patient wanted, of course). 

The unit beside the kitchen was for orthopaedic patients – typically elderly people who had broken their hips – but at the moment, the buzz around the hospital was that some actor who had recently been in a popular movie was a patient. He had broken his femur while skiing at the nearby mountain, or something like that, you’d heard. Honestly, you didn’t care much for all the fuss it had created. You much preferred when you had to think only about the patients on your own unit, the people whose lives you were personally responsible for. At the moment, that included a few people with pancreatitis who weren’t allowed to eat anything, two people who were receiving IV antibiotics for infections, and a dementia patient who was living on the unit while he waited to be placed in a personal care home. These folks were your priority, not some hot-shot movie star and his entourage of adoring girlfriends. 

Once you’d refilled the empty pitcher and popped a few packages of apricot jelly into the pocket of your scrub top (for a patient who really liked the stuff), you pushed the swinging door of the kitchen outwards. You put more effort into it than you’d originally intended, so the door swung open quickly and with great force. With a great _thump_ , some visitor with his eyes on his phone screen ran directly into the open door. 

The crack of his forehead connecting with the thick wood was sickening, and you let out a shriek as you watched him fall to the floor through the rectangular window in the door. You set the pitcher down on the dish trolley outside the kitchen and quickly knelt down beside the man, who had fallen flat on his butt. He blinked hard, leaning back on his hands for support. 

“Oh my god, are you alright?” you exclaimed, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see anyone when I tried to open it, but—” 

“No, that was totally my fault,” he laughed, reaching up to touch his forehead. “I shouldn’t be scrolling through Instagram while I walk. That was dumb of me.” He winced when his fingers brushed the area he’d struck his head, but when he looked at his palm to inspect it for blood, there was no sign that the impact had broken the skin. 

“That’s going to leave a bruise for sure,” you grimaced, tilting your head to get a better look. “And probably a pretty sizeable goose egg, too.” 

“Thank god for makeup artists, am I right?” he joked, a wide grin spreading across his face. “If they can make prosthetics that make people look like they have nasty wounds, I’m sure they can cover up whatever comes of my vertical face plant.” 

“Vertical face plant?” you asked, raising an eyebrow curiously. “Never heard that one before.” 

“Sounds more eloquent than, “I’m an idiot that ran into an open door,” doesn’t it?” he smiled. 

“I might give it a try next time I run into a glass patio door,” you replied, pressing your lips together to suppress a smile. “But hey, you hit that thing pretty hard. Mind if I do a quick neuro assessment to make sure your brain isn’t going to come out your ears, Mr…” 

“Mazzello,” he answered, holding out a hand. “But you can call me Joe.” 

“Alright, Joe,” you nodded, pulling your penlight from your pocket, “look straight ahead at me, and I’m going to take a quick look at your eyes.” He obliged, staring directly into your eyes as you checked his pupils. 

“Do you keep a credit card scanner in those pockets? All I’ve got is American Express,” he teased. “Oh wait, this is Canada, so you aren’t going to charge me to flash that thing in my eyes, right?” After spending all day on your relatively quiet unit, this guy was a real hoot, you thought. 

“You must be from the States,” you hummed, gently taking his chin in your fingers. Shifting his head from side to side, you saw that there wasn’t any blood or fluid coming from his ears or nose. That was a good sign. “Joe, can you tell me where we are right now?” 

“We’re at a hospital whose name I never actually knew in the first place, somewhere in Calgary, right?” he replied, grimacing as you touched his forehead lightly with the tips of your fingers. “They didn’t really teach us a ton of Canadian geography when I was in school. You’re right, about me being American.” 

“Right. How about the date and time?” 

“Let’s go with 4:30ish, and March 14th,” he guessed. “That’s as close as I can get. My friend and I were on a ski trip, and he took a bit of a tumble, so I’ve been sleeping in one of those reclining chairs in his room while he waits for the surgeon to schedule him in…haven’t paid much attention to the time.” 

“I get that,” you smiled. “Time either creeps by at the speed of snail, or speeds past in the blink of an eye in this place.” You held a finger out, several inches from his nose, grabbing his attention. “Follow my finger with your eyes, please.” You watched his eyes attentively, noticing that they were a lovely shade of brown. 

Seeing that he had been joking with you this whole time, and not noticing any impairment in his speech or anything else out of the ordinary during your assessment, you played a bit of a joke on him by moving your finger in a large swirling motion. He caught on after a few seconds, letting out a loud laugh that caused a health care aide from down the hall to give you a funny look. 

“How come none of the nurses on our unit are as hilarious as you?” he wondered, putting a hand on his hip. The twinkle in his eye told you he was teasing, but you didn’t respond right away, slightly nervous that one of the nurses at the nearby station desk would hear you. 

“All their patients are cranky and in pain, and their moods tend to follow their patients’ moods,” you whispered mischievously, biting your lip. “But don’t tell anyone I said that.” 

“Pinky swear,” he promised solemnly. “But hey, am I allowed to stand up now?” Realizing you’d just been chatting on the floor, you jumped to your feet, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. 

“Yeah, of course,” you said quickly, extending a hand to help him up. “Sorry, I got a little distracted.” 

“He has that effect on people,” commented a posh-sounding Englishman’s voice behind you. Turning around, you saw that a tall, handsome fellow carrying a bouquet of multi-coloured flowers was standing behind you. 

“Hey, man,” Joe exclaimed, spreading his arms to receive a hug from this man, who was evidently a good friend. “Glad you could make it!” You stepped awkwardly aside, not wanting to keep the two apart. As they began to chat, you grabbed the water pitcher and tried to hurry off down the hall, hoping that your buddy nurse wouldn’t count the time you’d been gone as part of your break. 

“Um, excuse me?” Joe called after you. “Miss, uh, nurse in the cute purple scrubs?” You stopped in your tracks, turning back to see what he wanted. “Yeah, sorry. I, uh…” he patted his friend on the arm and walked towards you so he didn’t have to yell. When he reached you, he suddenly looked a bit shy. That didn’t seem in character for him, based on what you’d seen so far. 

“Everything alright?” you asked, slipping back into your professional voice. “You aren’t feeling dizzy or anything, are you? If you start to have a bad headache, or feel nauseous, I’d really recommend going to the ER to get that checked—” 

“No, no, nothing like that,” he interrupted, waving a hand to dismiss your concern. “I just, uh…I didn’t catch your name.” He reached up to scratch the back of his neck, and his eyes settled on yours. _I think he’s hitting on me,_ you realized after a moment. 

“Oh, I’m Y/N,” you replied bashfully. “I’m an RN on Unit 7, just down the hall there.” Why you decided to tell him that extra information, you weren’t quite sure; it just kind of spilled out of you. 

“Well, thanks for checking on me there, Y/N, RN from Unit 7,” he said playfully. “Sorry again for being a millennial idiot and running into your door.” 

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” you insisted. “If you want, I can get you an icepack to hold on your forehead.” 

“Nah, that’s okay,” he shrugged. “I’m going downstairs to that coffee place to get an iced cappuccino for my friend and I anyways, so I can just use that.” Your heart skipped a beat; that’s where you were headed for your break. 

“You should, uh, try the Timbits,” you suggested, feeling stupid as soon as you’d said it. “That’s Canadian for ‘donut holes’, by the way. My favourites are the old-fashioned glazed.” 

Why did you have to be so awkward around cute guys? Making small talk was the bane of your existence, and this entire conversation with Joe had made it glaringly obvious why you were still single. 

“Thanks, maybe I’ll give them a try,” he nodded, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. He sure smiles a lot, you observed. “Well, uh, see you around, I guess!” You nodded and went your separate ways, you back to your nursing station, and him back to his friend’s hospital room. 

When you apologized for being gone nearly 10 minutes, your buddy nurse looked up at you, and completely deadpan, said, “Honestly, if you completely left the unit and didn’t come back, I probably wouldn’t have cared. Take as long as you want on your break. I promise you won’t miss anything.” 

* * * * * 

Once you’d retreated to your usual table in the cafeteria, you let your mind wander from your patients to the guy you’d nearly murdered with a door. You’d realized when you were grabbing your supper from your locker that he the friend he’d mentioned visiting was _that_ patient – the famous actor patient. So the cute guy – who you’d almost decapitated with the door (a bit dramatic, but you could be as dramatic as you wanted in your own thoughts) – might be an actor, too. And he’d flirted with you AND asked for your name. 

“Maybe I’ll just look him up online,” you said to yourself, pulling out your cell phone. “He’s probably got a LinkedIn account or something.” It wasn’t like you’d recognized him from anywhere. He wasn’t Ryan Reynolds or Brad Pitt. He was probably some small-time actor who just happened to have money kicking around to take ski trips to _the_ most expensive place in Canada for fun. 

“Joe Ma…does that have one ‘Z’ or two?” you wondered. His name came up right away in the search bar, linking you to Wikipedia and IMDb. Scrolling through his credits, you saw that he had directed his own movie, and in the 90’s, had been in – wait a second… 

“Fancy seeing you here,” came the voice of none other than the man whose soon-to-be massive forehead bruise was entirely your fault. Your eyes snapped up to see one messy-haired, smirking Joe Mazzello standing beside your table. 

“You were in fucking _Jurassic Park_?” you whispered incredulously, your eyebrows knit together as you stared at him. He started to laugh so hard that he nearly dropped the drinks he was holding. 

“You totally Googled me, didn’t you,” he asked once he’d settled down. Using his foot, he pulled out the empty chair across from you and dropped into it, setting down his drinks and to-go bag on your table. 

“Wow, that was so inappropriate of me,” you stammered, absolutely mortified at what you’d just said. “I’m so sorry. Completely unprofessional—” 

“No, I thought it was hilarious,” Joe assured you, reaching out to pat your hand, which was covering your phone on the tabletop. “It would be weird if you hadn’t looked me up, really. And actually, I’m totally going to creep you now that I know your last name.” He raised his eyebrows and pointed at your hospital-issued ID badge, which included your name and a horrifying photo of you that had been taken after you and a friend had just come from the gym. 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you protested, “there’s not really anything to know.” 

“Sweet LinkedIn account, Y/N,” Joe smirked, turning his phone towards you. “What brings you all the way from this university whose location I couldn’t place on a map to Calgary?” Your schooling, work history, and a short biographical description were all listed beneath a picture of you in pediatric scrubs, which you’d taken right after you’d graduated. 

“That’s Ottawa, the capital of Canada,” you informed him. “Kind of an important one to know. I grew up there, but decided that I wanted to work for a hospital with a great pediatric program.” 

“Isn’t your unit adult medicine?” he inquired. “That’s what the sign said when I walked past it 10 minutes ago to see if I could bring you a coffee.” You tilted your head to the side, slightly confused. 

“Why would you want to bring me coffee?” you asked, dumbfounded. “I nearly maimed your face, which according to the Internet, is kind of important to your job.” Joe pushed a large red cup towards you, and reached into the bag to pull out an enormous handful of plastic cream containers and packets of sugar. 

“Well, I appreciated how nice you were to check on me after my brush with death,” he began, “plus nurses live on coffee, I hear. And I think you’re cute. Oh, and no worries if my forehead caves in or something, I can always just play Freddie Kreuger when they do a reboot, but I won’t need a mask or anything. They’ll cast me on the spot!” You burst out laughing, unable to take him seriously. 

“Who are you?” you shook your head, in awe of his chaotic sense of humour and energetic personality. This entire day was clearly a strange dream your mind had concocted. People like this didn’t exist. 

“You already looked me up, Y/N,” he reminded you, removing the lid of your coffee. “Now choose from this pile of stuff I stole from the counter of that Tim Horton’s, and tell me what I can add to your coffee. I brought a bunch, just in case you’re one of those weirdos who likes more cream than coffee, or something.” 

“One cream and three sugars,” you answered, peeling the top from a cream container and dumping it into the dark, steaming coffee before you. 

“See, I knew you were sweet,” Joe teased, ripping the tops from three packages of sugar. “You are what you eat, after all.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be hanging out with your friends?” you wondered, using the handle of the spoon from your lunch as a stir stick. “I’m sure that they’re a lot more fun than I am, if your friends are anything like you.” Joe frowned and shook his head. 

“No way,” he told you. “Ben’s a grumpy Gus because apparently breaking your leg hurts or something. Plus he and Gwil, the guy with the flowers, are both English, so they’re the least funny friends I have.” 

Intrigued by the man sitting across from you, you spent the remainder of your break bantering with him about pretty much everything; your careers, hobbies and interests, and even your families. He had two siblings, and was from New York. 

“We literally grew up 6 hours from each other, and you don’t know where Ottawa is?” you questioned teasingly. 

“Hey, if the Canadian health care system is this much better than the US’s, imagine what that says about our education system,” Joe defended himself. 

Glancing at your watch, you realized that you only had a few minutes to get back up to the unit before your break ended. You felt sad to leave; Joe was an absolute riot to chat with, and he’d brought you both coffee _and_ a box of the Timbits you’d recommended to him, which the two of you had shared. 

“I’m sorry to have to cut things short, but I’m back on shift in about 3 minutes,” you explained, your voice heavy with disappointment. 

“What time are you off?” Joe inquired. “I’m sure that you’ll be hungry again at some point, and I’ll need someone to show me a decent place around here to eat.” He leaned across the table and lowered his voice, glancing around as if to check for listening ears. “No offense, but this hospital’s room service is kind of shitty.” 

“Are you asking me to go to dinner with you?” 

“No, I just want you to AirDrop me some dinner recommendations,” he said sarcastically. “Y/N, I would love to take you for dinner, if you’re free, and your boyfriend or girlfriend wouldn’t mind.” Smooth way to ask if you’re single, you thought. 

“No, neither of them will mind,” you quipped, “and I know some decent places. Maybe you should bring something back for your friends, too. I second the opinion that hospital food blows.” 

“Except for these donut holes,” Joe remarked, popping another one into his mouth. “I might have to move to Canada, these things are frickin’ delicious.” 

“Wait ‘til you try some syrup from the maple tree in my yard,” you enthused, trying to keep from laughing - the lack of Americans' knowledge about life in Canada always astounded you, so you decided to tease Joe a little bit. “You’ll never leave Canada after that.” 

“YOU HAVE A TREE IN YOUR YARD THAT MAKES SYRUP?!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe sends you flowers at work, and plans a fun group date with his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, this turned into something a little spicier than I originally intended for this story, so I'm going to have to adjust the rating buuut I'm not mad about it.

After answering the hundredth call light that had buzzed in the last hour, you collapsed in your chair at the nursing station. In comparison to the past week, things on the unit were crazy today. It seemed that everyone had to use the bathroom at the same time, and all of your patients needed help getting there.

“Somebody said the q-word, I know it,” you complained to the physician who was standing on the other side of the desk, flipping through a patient’s chart. 

“Wasn’t me,” Dr. Hartford promised, glancing up at you over his glasses. The physician, a kidney specialist, had come to check on several dialysis patients on your unit. These patients had to be taken down to have their blood filtered through a machine three times a week, because their kidneys were no longer able to filter out waste products themselves. They required careful monitoring to ensure the chemicals in their bodies were at manageable levels. 

“Have this morning’s labs come back yet?” he wondered, flipping to the lab section of the chart. 

“Yes, let me grab them for you. Someone just brought them up a few minutes ago.” As you reached for the stack of lab printouts, another face appeared at the desk, carrying a pretty bouquet of flowers. 

“Hey Jess,” you smiled, greeting the delivery girl, who worked in the florist on the main floor of the hospital. “What room are those for? I’ll bring them in there in just a second.” 

“Actually,” she murmured, a sly smirk crossing her face, “they’re for you.” 

“For me?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow. “Oh man, are they from Mr. What’s-his-name, that guy who kept sending all those flowers to Jen on unit 4? That was kind of weird.” Sometimes, patients became attached to nurses, and to keep things professional, you had to be clear about the appropriate boundaries that existed between patients and their health care providers. 

“No, silly,” she laughed, setting the vase on the counter, well away from any important-looking papers. “Take a look at the message.” You did as she instructed, angling the bouquet so you could read the little card that was attached to a plastic pin on the side of the vase. 

“You’re kidding,” you insisted, glancing back up at Jess. “These aren’t from…” 

“He stopped by earlier this morning, said he wanted them delivered halfway through your shift, if at all possible,” Jess told you. Dr. Hartford, who was almost 60 years old, pushed his glasses up on his nose and craned his neck towards your bouquet, attempting to read the card from afar. His vision wasn’t great, but the penmanship was legible enough. 

“Ooh, Y/N, who’s _Joe_?” he teased, elongating the vowel on the end of the man’s name. “Someone special?” You’d known the physician for five or six years, and were quite used to the way he liked to joke around with other staff members; this was par for the course. 

“None of your beeswax,” you responded in a goofy voice, crinkling your nose. “He’s just, um, a guy I met last week. We’ve been out once or twice.” That was an understatement; he’d taken you out for dinner, you’d met twice for coffee, and you had another date set for this evening after your shift was over. Thankfully, you were only working an eight today, so you’d be off at 3:30. 

“So, is he cute?” the physician wondered, leaning forward on his elbows. 

“Dr. Hartford!” you exclaimed, placing a hand over your mouth in mock surprise. “You’re such a gossip! Don’t you have lab values to be looking at?” The man scowled at you, adjusting his reading glasses as he glanced back down at the chart in front of him. He reached over the counter and snatched up the pile of papers you’d retrieved from the lab basket, rifling through them in search of the correct patient. 

“Anyway,” Jess shrugged, “he asked for peonies, tulips and roses. He was _very_ specific that those were what he wanted. Usually, guys come in and just pick something off the shelf, but this guy…he knew his stuff.” You felt your cheeks growing hot with embarrassment; Joe had brought up flowers in a conversation you’d had a few days before, asking whether you kept a garden or not. Clearly, he’d had an ulterior motive. 

“Right. Well, uh, thanks for bringing them up, Jess,” you said appreciatively. “I’ll keep them here today, and I guess I’ll bring them home at the end of my shift.” The girl nodded in response, giving you a teasing wink before leaving the desk. You leaned in and sniffed the bouquet, which had just the right amount of floral fragrance; not overpowering, but light and sweet, just the way you liked it. 

Returning to the task at hand, you sorted through the stack of lab papers, hole punching each and placing them behind the correct divider in each patient’s binder. Some binders were nearly overflowing with papers, indicating they’d been on the unit for a number of days, sometimes even a month. Others were recent admissions, and had fewer papers. As you flipped to the progress note section of one chart, you scrawled a neat note about the contents of the toilet you’d been called to inspect by your newest patient. 

“Y/N, can I say something?” Dr. Hartford spoke, once you’d scribbled your signature and designation at the end of your note. You appreciated that he’d waited for you to finish charting – it drove you nuts when people interrupted your train of thought. 

“Of course,” you nodded, looking up at the man with a smile. The physician’s kind smile and silver hair reminded you of your father, who was around the same age. Dr. Hartford was one of your favourite doctors in the hospital because he was a great listener, and always took the time to sit down with patients and really hear their concerns. Now, he looked as if he had something special to share with you. 

“I hope you won’t feel like I’m overstepping my boundaries by saying this,” he began, looking almost shy, “but I just wanted to say that I think you deserve to have someone fantastic in your life. When you get to my age, it’s nice to have someone by your side to confide in, and enjoy your life with. You’re still young, of course, but take it from someone who waited a long time to look for a companion – keep an eye out for the kind of person who puts you first, and loves you for exactly who you are.” 

If this hadn’t been a work situation, you would have hugged the man. His words were incredibly sweet and genuine, and you knew they came from his heart. 

“Thank you, Dr. Hartford, I really appreciate that,” you effused, smiling brightly. “I don’t know where things will go with this guy yet, but I’ll make sure to keep that in mind.” The physician, you knew, had met his lovely husband in his late forties while doing work with Médicins Sans Frontières in South America. They were both doctors, and had made a connection through their love for helping others. 

“That’s my two cents,” he shrugged. “And with that, I’ll be off.” You waved, and watched the man wander down the hall towards the unit around the corner. With a warm, fuzzy feeling settling into your stomach, you stood up and admired the bouquet Joe had sent. It was done in lovely shades of pink, and was accented with bits of greenery. Jess was right; he did know his stuff. 

Before you could sit back down, three call lights began to blink within seconds of each other. Your buddy nurse was off on her lunch break, so you would have to answer all three yourself. 

“Ain’t no rest for the wicked,” you chuckled, reaching for the nearly-empty container of hand sanitizer on the desk beside you. 

* * * * * 

“So, anything fun happen at work today?” Joe inquired, leaning in for a kiss while you were stopped at a red light. He had just picked you up from work, and was driving you back to your apartment to change out of your scrubs and take a quick shower. 

“Yes, actually,” you nodded. “This really cute guy sent my favourite flowers to my unit. It was so sweet!” Joe frowned at you, pretending to look jealous. 

“Who is this guy?” he asked gruffly. “Do I have to beat him up? Because it sounds like he’s trying too hard to get your attention, and I don’t think I like that.” You giggled, reaching out to put a hand over Joe’s on the stick shift. 

“No, I think he’s trying just the right amount, actually,” you grinned. “He’s really nice, I bet you’d like him if you gave him a chance.” Joe’s attention was now focused on the road, but he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, and the corner of his mouth quirked up into a smile. It had been a few days since he’d shaved, and his chin and cheeks were adorably stubbled. You wanted to reach out and brush a hand along his jawline, pepper kisses along it. 

“I can hear you thinking,” he accused with a smirk, “and what I’m hearing isn’t very appropriate, Y/N.” 

“Hey, God gave me an imagination for a reason,” you said, raising your hands in a shrug. “I can look.” 

“Well, don’t be looking too close,” he warned, “because I made plans for the rest of the afternoon, and I’m not cancelling them because you had sexy thoughts touching my face.” This was a complete lie, you knew; things hadn’t progressed to that point yet, but you were positive that you could convince him to spend the remainder of the day in bed with you. 

“What kind of plans?” you asked, curious. “You’re not from Calgary, so you’d have to have done some research into what there is to do here.” 

“Well, it’s certainly not New York or Los Angeles,” he said in his best snobby socialite impression, “but Google knows its stuff, and recommended some fun activities. I’ll tell you once you’ve changed into something less…” 

“Disgusting?” you suggested, pointing to the bloodstain on your leg, which you’d received while trying to change an amputation dressing. 

“Honestly, yes,” he admitted. “I’m really glad this is a rental car, because if you wanted to get into my Ferrari in those, I’d have to ask you to strip down before sitting on the upholstery.” 

“You definitely drive a Nissan,” you laughed, rolling your eyes. “But okay, Mr. Ferrari.” 

“I could totally afford a Ferrari, if I sold my house and all my furniture, and my body,” he protested. “I manage my finances very well, thank you very much.” 

He pulled up in the parking lot outside your apartment, stopping in one of the visitor spots. Once you’d stepped out of the vehicle and closed your door, you started walking towards the building entrance. Joe jogged to catch up with you, lacing his fingers through yours. He carried the bouquet of flowers he’d sent you, which you’d decided to bring home today. 

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay if I come up?” he asked hesitantly. “I don’t want to intrude on your space or anything.” 

“Of course it’s alright,” you assured him. “I locked the door to my sex dungeon and cleaned up all the pizza boxes so the rats would leave. It’ll be just fine, I promise.” Joe laughed, squeezing your hand as you searched your purse for your keys. 

When you’d taken the elevator up to the seventh floor, you led Joe down the hall to your apartment. You had hung a cute spring wreath from a hook on the centre of your door, and Joe touched the decoration gently, appreciating the personal touch. You unlocked the door, swinging it open to reveal your tidy little place. The glass patio doors allowed natural light into the room, so you didn’t need to turn on the overhead lights. 

“This is nice,” Joe complimented, slipping his mucky shoes off on the front rug. “Very homey.” Your apartment was furnished in earth tones, with a warm, brown leather sofa, and plenty of plants scattered around the place. Joe set your bouquet in the centre of your kitchen table, and shrugged out of his winter coat, putting it on the back of a chair. 

“I don’t think it has enough bookshelves yet,” you shrugged. This was an understatement. In the small main area alone, you had four 7-foot shelves filled with novels, textbooks, biographies, and poetry collections. It was clear to anyone that came over that you were a book lover. 

“So you’re going to hop in the shower, and then we’ll go?” Joe asked. “Like, put clothes on after the shower. That would be weird for the other people if you didn’t.” 

“Yep, that’s the plan,” you nodded in agreement. “Oh, let me turn on the TV for you. There’s probably a hockey game on by now.” 

“Hockey?” Joe shivered, pretending to be disgusted. “I’d rather just watch Dora or something. I’ve been watching that with my nephews, it’s a pretty decent show.” 

“You’re in Canada, silly,” you scowled, giving him a playful smack on the arm. “Hockey’s the only thing that matters here. Gotta learn that if you’re going to hang out with me.” 

“How about you just turn the TV on and give me the remote?” he suggested tactfully. “I’ll just turn on TSN or something. Maybe they have polar bear racing on today, I’ll have to flip through the channels to see.” 

“I’m going to make you walk to wherever we’re going,” you threatened, suppressing a smile. “You should know better than that, Joe. Polar bear racing season doesn’t open until June.” 

“My bad,” he apologized with a wink, leaning forward to kiss your cheek. “You go shower, okay? We can’t be late, I made our reservation for six, and we’re meeting some people.” 

You went into your bedroom to grab clothes to change into, but decided against taking them into the bathroom. Maybe you’d give Joe a bit of a show, walking from the bathroom in just a towel after your shower. 

Stripping out of your dirty scrubs, you tossed them into the hamper in the bathroom before turning on the water. You scrubbed your hair, shampooing and conditioning it well, and washed yourself up quickly but thoroughly. You’d shaved your legs the night before, and felt that you’d done a decent enough job that you didn’t have to touch it up today. Once you’d rinsed the suds from your hair and skin, you wrapped up in the towel you’d hung above the air vent. The air from the vent had warmed the towel as if it had just come out of the dryer, and you breathed a happy sigh as the fluffy fabric touched your skin. 

Deciding to brave the walk down the hall, you tightened your grasp on the towel, and left the bathroom. Joe’s eyes followed you as you passed the living room, and just as you went to close the bedroom door, he put his fingers in his mouth and let out a whistle. 

“No catcalls unless you’re going to do something about it,” you flirted, locking eyes with him through the crack in the door. Although you could no longer see him, you heard him let out a soft whine. He did not, much to your annoyance, come to join you. With a frustrated huff, you slipped into a matching set of panties, a lacy black bra and sheer briefs, which, in your opinion, looked pretty hot on you. 

_We still have plenty of time to get there for six,_ you told yourself. 

When you stepped out into the living room, wearing naught but your skivvies, Joe’s eyes went wide. You leaned against the wall, aware that you were standing at the perfect angle to show _everything_ off. 

“Joey, I can’t decide what to wear,” you complained, pouting. “Can you help me?” He reached for the remote and flicked off the baseball game, even though it was the season opener. 

“Can I…what?” he stammered, unable to take his eyes off you. 

“Well, I don’t know where we’re going, so I don’t know what kind of clothes I should wear,” you repeated, well aware of the effect you were having on the poor boy. He tried to keep his eyes on your face, but as you faked a yawn and raised your arms to stretch, he couldn’t help but look. 

“I, um, I don’t, uh…” he trailed off, standing up from the couch. “I think you should just wear that. Seems fine to me.” He slowly made his way over to you, swallowing hard as he stopped in front of you. 

“Do you like it?” you asked. “I can wear this if you want.” 

He did want. He certainly wanted that. Maybe not for his friends to see, but he was definitely okay with what you’d chosen. Reaching out tentatively, he set his hands on your hips, his fingers brushing the lacy waistband of your panties. 

“So…what do you think we should do, hmm, Joey?” you murmured, looking up at him, doe-eyed beneath your lashes. 

“I think we should…” he attempted to formulate an answer, his eyes raking over your body. “We should probably make out.” 

“Okay, sounds good to me,” you shrugged, giving him a salacious smile. Without further ado, Joe leaned down and pressed his lips to yours, releasing an obscene groan of satisfaction as you pulled him against you. 

Your hands went beneath his shirt, roaming over his chest and back. He deepened the kiss, responding immediately to your touch. After a minute, you put your hands on his hips and gave him a little push, encouraging him to step back. 

“Maybe we should take this somewhere else,” you suggested as he pulled away to take a breath. 

“We can’t be late tonight,” he reminded you, “but as long as we aren’t, I’m very, _very_ willing to take this somewhere else.” 

* * * * * 

“I don’t think you can go back to New York,” you sighed, nuzzling your face into Joe’s neck. “Who will snuggle me when you’re gone?” The two of you were cuddled up in your underwear in the middle of your bed, tucked under the blankets. 

“I can afford to come to visit you, silly,” he frowned. “Plus, you have some vacation time, I’m sure. I’ll fly you out to come and see me.” 

“How do you know you like me enough for that?” you questioned, pressing your lips to his throat in a gentle kiss. “I could be a serial killer, for all you know.” 

“That’s true,” he hummed, pulling you closer to him. “You’re too sweet for that, though. At least, I think you are.” 

“There are nurses that murder their patients,” you pointed out. “Maybe I do that.” 

“Do you?” 

“Of course not!” you laughed. “I like them all too much. No, if I had to murder anyone, it would be other nurses. Unfortunately, not everyone who goes into nursing does it because they care. It’s just a job that pays, for some people.” This had always bothered you about the people you went to school with; nursing was your calling, and when you worked with people for whom it clearly wasn’t a vocation, it was a challenge. 

“I think you’re the right kind of person for it,” Joe told you, leaning his forehead up against yours. “You do it for the right reasons.” 

“I feel the same about you and your job,” you replied, meeting his eyes. “You’re not in it for the fame and fortune. You just love to tell stories, and you’re amazing at it.” 

“How do you know?” he wondered, raising an eyebrow. “Have you somehow found time between working and seeing me to watch my movies?” 

“Why do you think I look so tired today?” you teased. “I binged through The Pacific in two nights. You were – you are – incredible.” Joe’s eyes softened at your compliment; it meant a lot to him to hear you say that. 

“Maybe sometime when you come to New York, you can check out some of the pediatric programs in town,” he suggested. “You mentioned that you had originally moved here to go into peds.” 

“Maybe,” you agreed, smiling as you enjoyed the warmth of his skin against yours. You knew you’d have to get up and get dressed in the next few minutes, but didn’t really want to. Being beside Joe was just so comfortable. 

Joe’s phone began to ring. With a groan, he reached across you and grabbed it from the nightstand beside you. He flicked his thumb across the screen to answer the call, tapped the speakerphone icon, and set the phone on the pillow between you. 

“Hey,” Joe said, “what’s up, Ben?” 

“Why aren’t you answering my texts, mate?” his friend demanded, his deep voice booming from the phone speaker. 

“We were a little busy,” you smirked, replying before Joe could. “Sorry, Ben.” Joe shot you a surprised look, but when he saw your crooked smile, his chest began to shake with silent laughter. 

“Oh, well, uhhh…sorry ‘bout that,” Ben apologized awkwardly. “Didn’t mean to, um, interrupt anything.” 

“Not a problem, Benny-boy,” Joe promised. “We’re still on for 7:30, right?” 

“Yeah, definitely,” his friend responded. “Gwil and his girl are joining us as well, and Rami and Lucy flew into the city earlier this afternoon.” He seemed hesitant, as if he had something else on his mind. Joe picked up on it immediately. 

“So you’re calling to ask if Y/N has any cute friends because you don’t want to be the seventh wheel?” Joe guessed. Ben was silent; apparently, Joe knew him too well. 

“Sure, I could call up a friend,” you confirmed. “What sorts of girls do you like, Ben?” He must have been drinking something, because he coughed and spluttered as if he’d swallowed wrong. 

“Oh, I don’t need you to set me up or anything,” he protested weakly, still trying to catch his breath. 

“We’ll find the perfect gal for you, Ben,” Joe assured him. See you at 7:30!” Before Ben could respond, Joe ended the call. 

“So now, we scroll through my Facebook page and find a good match for Ben,” you said decidedly. “One more kiss first, though. Real quick.” 

“It’s only 5:30,” Joe laughed. “It doesn’t have to be quick.” 

* * * * * 

Based on Joe’s description of his friend’s personality, you decided to call up a friend from work to see if she was available. She was younger than you, which placed her in Ben’s age range, but had a wicked sense of humour, and a brilliant mind. Catherine, who was a surgical nurse you’d met two years ago, was into all sorts of outdoorsy things, and had an adventurous spirit, which Joe thought would be a good match. 

She’d been a bit hesitant when you broached the subject with her, especially because it was pretty short notice. Eventually, you managed to convince her, and Joe promised her she would have a fun evening, whether she hit it off with Ben or not. 

“Are you really still not going to tell me where we’re going?” you whined, sliding into the front seat of Joe’s rental car. 

“We’re _going_ to pick up Ben and Cate,” Joe replied, smiling devilishly. “And we’re _going_ to have fun!” You sighed, annoyed by his insistence on keeping it a secret, but decided to go along with it. 

Joe pulled up in front of the hotel he and his friends were staying at, and gave Ben a call to tell him you’d arrived. Very slowly, Ben hobbled out, using a pair of crutches to support himself. You stepped out of the vehicle and opened the back passenger-side door, allowing Ben to use your shoulder for support as he struggled to get in. 

“Christ, this is difficult,” he exclaimed, breathing hard. “This is better than a wheelchair, but still…” 

“That cast is pretty heavy, I’m sure,” you empathized. “You just stretch your leg out, and don’t worry about Cate. We’ll make the seating work somehow.” Ben nodded, grimacing as he tried to lift himself into the back seat. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t come tonight,” Ben faltered, glancing at Joe, who was in the driver’s seat. “I’ll just slow you guys down.” 

“No way!” you chided, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder. “We’re all going, it’s not a problem at all. We’ll make it work, Ben, don’t you worry.” 

“Why don’t I quit being an asshole and come give you guys a hand?” Joe suggested, and you nodded, willing to accept the help. With you in the back seat guiding Ben’s immobilized leg and Joe supporting his friend’s weight, the three of you were able to situate him with as little discomfort as possible. 

“Whoo,” Ben sighed, wiping a hand across his forehead jokingly. “That was a workout.” You laughed, glancing over the back of your seat at him. 

“Good thing I didn’t decide to set you up with my other coworker,” you teased. “She’s got a broken leg too, but I figured you might not both fit back there.” Ben cracked a smile and winked when he met Joe’s eyes in the rearview mirror. 

“I like her, Joe,” Ben told him. “Keep her around, she’s much nicer than you.” 

“Much prettier too,” Joe agreed, setting a hand on your thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Much prettier.” 

* * * * * 

As it turned out, Ben and Cate got on smashingly. She was properly sympathetic about his leg, and spent the evening by his side, ‘making sure he was doing okay,’ she insisted. They talked about music and travelling over dinner, which was had at a Mongolian barbecue restaurant. Everyone got to choose their own meats, vegetables, noodles and sauces, which were then stir-fried on a large, round iron grill right in front of you. The food was delicious, and the conversation was even better. It didn’t take long for you to warm up to all of Joe’s friends. 

Not surprisingly, you and Joe were the loudest and most exuberant of the bunch. Ben and Cate sat on one side of you, enthralled with each other, and Rami and Lucy, as well as Gwilym and his fiancée, sat on the other side of the table. You got to hear all sorts of goofy stories about Joe’s antics on the set of Bohemian Rhapsody. What pleased you most was the realization that Joe’s friends held him in very high esteem; he was respected as an actor, and as a man. Your father had always told you how important it was to see how a person’s friends regarded him - it was a sign of their character. 

After dinner, Joe had organized for the group of you to go to an escape room. You had heard great things about them, but had so often gotten caught up in work that you’d never had an opportunity to go to one. Joe had selected one that wouldn’t require Ben to do a ton of walking, but that would challenge the group’s problem-solving skills – and their relationships. 

Thankfully, all of you ended up working really well together. Ben’s quick logic helped to crack codes, Gwil and his fiancée put their height to good use by searching for keys and clues in places that the rest of you couldn’t reach, and the rest of you used your creativity and intuition to figure out how to solve the mystery. Many laughs were had, especially after Rami accidentally opened a lock before it was supposed to be opened. The clue inside threw the rest of you off, and you had to backtrack to figure out what you had missed. 

In the end, everyone had a marvellous time, and you escaped the room with 2 minutes to spare. You got to take a ridiculous escape room photo, wearing feather boas and star-shaped sunglasses, as well as an assortment of hats and other accessories Lucy insisted that Freddie Mercury would have loved. You ended the night at the local Dairy Queen, shovelling down spoonfuls of ice cream filled with candy toppings. You and Joe battled it out to see who could find the largest piece of Reece’s Cup in their ice cream, and you definitely won. Your prize was an incredibly sensuous kiss, which drew a round of applause from all of Joe’s friends, who looked on with joy and an appropriate amount of embarrassment. 

When you dropped Ben off at the hotel, Cate said she would walk him up to his room, ‘just to make sure he got there safely’. You and Joe glanced at each other knowingly, and howled with laughter when she called you 10 minutes later and said she’d catch a cab home. 

“What a guy,” Joe said, his voice filled with admiration. 

“I knew Cate would be a good match for him,” you enthused. “We’re a brilliant team, Joe, don’t you think?” 

“I certainly do,” he smiled, leaning in for a kiss. The car behind you honked, wanting you to get out of the drop-off lane in front of the hotel door. Just because they were being impatient, Joe prolonged the kiss, going so far as to sneak a hand beneath your skirt to tease you while the driver behind you grew more and more frustrated. The man stomped up to the driver’s side window and knocked on the glass. Joe kept his hand where it was, and rolled down the window. 

“What can I do for you, sir?” he asked, brushing his fingers along the front of your panties. You had taken off your cardigan and draped it over your lap to make it less obvious, but it was clear by the man’s awkward expression that he knew exactly what was going on. 

“I’d appreciate if you moved your vehicle elsewhere, please,” the man requested, tugging at his collar. His face flushed red, and he tried his best not to make eye contact with you. 

“Sure, no problem,” Joe nodded, “sorry to have kept you waiting, sir.” The man retreated to his vehicle, and you gave Joe a smack on his thigh. 

“That poor man is probably mortified,” you scolded him. You opened your mouth to chastise him more, but were silenced as Joe’s fingers found exactly the right place between your thighs. You breathed in sharply, and grabbed Joe’s wrist. He refused to stop, and instead made even more of an effort to make you squirm in your seat. 

“Not here,” you shook your head, biting your lip. Joe glanced over his shoulder and pulled the car forward, turning out of the hotel parking lot and onto the road. 

“Okay, not in the parking lot,” he agreed amicably, shooting you a mischievous smile. “We’ll just go for a drive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't know, nurses are very superstitious about saying the word "quiet" on the unit, because it always happens that the moment someone says it, all hell breaks loose. That's what was meant by "the q-word" at the beginning!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Joe's last day in Calgary, the two of you spend some quality time together.

“Anything?” Joe asked, scooping a forkful of scrambled eggs onto a piece of toast. He lifted it to his mouth and took a large bite, rendering him unable to ask any more questions for the time being. You were both starved, but your focus was on the three little bubbles on your phone screen, indicating that your co-worker, Cate, was busy typing a response to the text you’d sent early that morning.

**So???**

**So…what?** she had replied, as if she had no idea what you could possibly be talking about. 

**You _know_ what,** you’d sent, narrowing your eyes as you read her message. **Ben, of course. What happened between you two last night?**

“What’s she saying?” Joe inquired, washing down his toast with a sip of orange juice. “Come on, Y/N, tell her we’re dying here. We need the deets.” 

“Why don’t you text Ben and ask him for _the deets_?” you wondered, shooting him an annoyed glance. “Maybe he’ll be less cryptic than Cate.” 

“Already tried,” Joe responded, unlocking his phone. “Check this out.” He angled the screen toward you, showing you the single text he’d received after sending not one, not two, but six messages and four selfies to Ben in the span of as many minutes. 

**Benny, how’d things go with Cate last night?**

**Ben????**

**Dude, answer me.**

**I thought we were friends??? ☹**

**If I don’t get a response in the next 10 mins I’m calling the cops, man.**

**SHE MURDERED YOU, DIDN’T SHE?**

Ben’s text simply said, **Call you later.**

“What do you think that means?” Joe frowned, letting you read through what he’d sent. You extended an arm and pulled him towards you, holding his head against your shoulder. “He’s so mysterious, with his expressions, and his accent, and his ‘call you later’s,” he murmured. 

After the group outing to the escape room the previous week, Cate had told you and Joe that she was going to help Ben up to his room and then come back down to the car, but had called a few minutes later and said she would catch a cab home. The following day, neither would share with you OR Joe what had happened. If being out of the loop was mildly annoying for you, it was _killing_ Joe, who couldn’t stand being the odd one out. 

“I think it probably means he’ll call you later, honey,” you told him, patting his head sympathetically. “They probably stayed up late talking or something, and wanted to sleep in a bit.” 

“Why didn’t we sleep in?” 

“Because I’m a nurse, and I wake up at 5:00am most days of the week,” you chuckled. “My body doesn’t know how to sleep in anymore.” Joe nuzzled his face against your neck, pressing a sweet kiss to the side of your throat. Even though he had teased you every day about the early wake-up time, he secretly loved waking up to see you, nose stuck in a book, in bed beside him. 

“I can’t believe this is our last day in Calgary,” he lamented. “Can we just hang out in bed all day and binge-watch something stupid on Netflix?” Because Ben and Joe’s ski holiday had been extended by Ben’s untimely injury, they had been in Calgary for nearly 2 weeks now. But Ben needed to return to the UK to start physiotherapy, and Joe had a pilot to shoot in New York, which was due to begin in just a few days. 

“Why something stupid?” 

“So I can ignore the show and kiss you,” he laughed, laying a hand over yours on the counter and squeezing it firmly. “I’d hate to put on something you’re really into and then pull you away from it with my neediness.” 

“I don’t think there’s such a thing as a Netflix show I’d rather watch than talk to you,” you assured him, bringing his hand to your lips. “Not even ‘Planet Earth’, and that’s saying something.” 

“That’s so sweet,” Joe expressed, his brown eyes softening at your words. “You’d rather listen to me than David Attenborough, even though he has the voice of an elderly, English angel?” 

“Of course I would,” you promised, leaning forward to press your forehead against his. “No one in their right mind would choose ‘Planet Earth’ over you, Joe.” You toyed with the gold signet ring he wore on his pinky, a keepsake from his time filming Bohemian Rhapsody; it had the letter ‘J’ engraved on its face, an initial for both himself and his character, John Deacon. 

“Are you finished with your breakfast?” he asked, kissing the tip of your nose. 

“Sure am,” you confirmed. “Let’s go crawl under the covers for the morning, okay? Leave the dishes, I can do them later.” Joe ignored you, taking both your empty plates to the dishwasher. He loaded the few glasses and miscellaneous cooking utensils into it, popped a detergent pod in, and started it. Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood up, causing Joe to look over his shoulder. 

Much to your surprise, he turned around and charged at you like a bull, sweeping your legs out from under you as he slung you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He headed straight for the bedroom, one hand around your legs and the other teasingly patting your behind. 

“There we go,” he announced, tossing you gently onto your unmade bed, still in the state you’d left it when you’d woken up that morning. “Much better.” You wiggled away from the centre of the bed, making room for him to launch himself into the centre as he had every night he’d stayed over. The text conversation you’d been having with Cate had entirely disappeared from your mind, replaced with a strong desire to curl up in Joe’s arms. 

“Clothes on or off?” Joe asked mischievously, tugging at the neck of the fuzzy sweater he had been wearing. “It’ll be warmer if we keep them on, but much nicer without.” Your eyes flickered up and down his body, wondering if he was insinuating what you were hoping. His sweater caught on his t-shirt, exposing his pale midriff as he attempted to pull it over his head. 

“Joe…” you hesitated, biting your lip, “we could, umm…you know.” Suddenly, the smirk he’d been wearing disappeared; a blush crept up his neck, and he swallowed hard. For the first time since you’d met him, he seemed almost self-conscious, as if he were a teenage boy who’d just asked his first girlfriend if he could sneak a hand beneath her sweater. 

Truth be told, despite your attempts to seduce him, the day of the group outing with his friends hadn’t gone as you’d thought (and maybe hoped) it would. Joe had been all for a passionate makeout session, but had stopped you before things went any further than that. The reason he had given you – which you really did respect, and find endearing – was that he didn’t want you to think he was spending time with you just to score a hot hook-up on his trip. Sex meant something to him, and he wasn’t going to do it with just anyone. 

This didn’t mean that nothing at all had happened since you’d met two weeks before; Joe was a gentleman, but he also liked to make a girl feel good – very good, in fact; you had no complaints there. But he was leaving tomorrow afternoon on a flight back to New York, and you weren’t ready to let him go just yet. 

“Babe,” he murmured, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Are you…do you want to?” He looked too nervous to respond, whatever answer you decided to give him. If he was going to play shy, you decided, it was up to you to get the ball rolling. Leaning forward, you drew him into a deep kiss, placing a hand on his knee to steady yourself. 

“You’ve spent all week catering to what Ben’s needed, Joe,” you reminded him, drawing back to meet his eyes. “Let me take care of you now.” Your hand shifted further up his thigh, coming dangerously close to heat your words had stoked in him. “Fuck, babe, are you sure?” he choked out, trying to keep himself calm beneath your touch. His self-control was dangerously limited, and had been a major factor in his decision to take things slow with you. Once he started, it would take monumental effort to stop. 

“Positive,” you answered. He sucked in a quick breath, tilting his head back as you began to stroke him lazily through his flannel pyjama bottoms. Gripping the sheets tightly in his fists, he kept his hands to himself as long as he could, allowing you to crawl onto his lap. The demise of your attempt to tease him was the way you rolled your hips against his arousal, making him aware of how warm, how ready you were for him. 

“I can’t do this,” he whispered, releasing the sheets and taking hold of your ass. “I need you, Y/N, right now.” Satisfied with his newfound willingness to take initiative, you handed him the reigns, pleased to follow wherever he wanted to go. 

* * * * * 

The shower took longer to warm up than you’d anticipated, as some of the hot water was being diverted to the washing machine – your bedding had required some TLC after the morning you and Joe had. Once you stepped over the side of the tub and into the stream of lukewarm water, you poured a dollop of body wash into your hands, lathering it before applying it to the places you had sweat the most. 

“May I join you?” Joe asked, peeking behind the curtain. His eyes trailed up your body, admiring the smoothness of your skin from outside the tub. 

“Come on in, the water’s fine,” you smiled over your shoulder. “Plus I can’t reach my back, so I’ll need you, my friend, to help me here.” Joe obliged your request, not needing to remove any clothes before stepping in. When the water splashed against his skin, he let out a breath of relief. His muscles were sore, thanks to you, but in the best way possible. 

As you’d requested, he gave your shoulders and back a good scrub-down, and you returned the favour. It didn’t lead to anything more scandalous – really, you just enjoyed each other’s company as you got ready for the day. While you shampooed your hair, Joe shaved his face in the small mirror suctioned to the shower wall. Although this was the first time you’d done this together, it somehow felt very mundane, as if you’d been chatting about work while showering for years. Everything felt this way with Joe; he fit perfectly into your life. 

“Let’s go on a walk, babe,” Joe suggested once you’d finished blow-drying your hair. “I’d like to see some more of Calgary before I leave. But make it a nice part, or I won’t want to come back.” 

“It’s winter,” you groused, “you won’t get a good idea of what it’s actually like in the better part of the year.” Indeed, snow was piled high on every street corner and on the edge of every parking lot in the city. Some was pure and white, as fluffy as it was in the movies, but most of it was a mucky brown-grey, coloured by soil and the sand put out by de-icing trucks to prevent vehicles from sliding through intersections. 

“Let’s just go wherever you want, then,” he smiled. “All I want from today is to spend it all with you.” He leaned in for a kiss, which you returned with enthusiasm. It felt almost bittersweet, though; you would really miss him. 

The two of you donned your jackets, mittens and hats, and took a stroll around Inglewood, the trendy, live music hub of Calgary that you called home. Joe held your hand and followed you like a puppy, his silly grin never fading. You showed him your favourite record shop, took him to lunch at a shawarma restaurant you and your friends frequented, and tugged him into a café where local folk musicians could play short sets on a small stage. The café made the best hot chocolate you’d ever had, and was the perfect atmosphere for Joe to bring up something he’d had on his mind all week. 

The two of you settled into a table in the corner by the window, where the music was a little quieter, and the seating more private. You wiped your lipstick off onto a napkin so as not to get it all over the rim of your mug, and passed it to Joe, who appreciated the flirty gesture; it had come off in the shape of a perfect, red kiss. 

“So, what does the next few months look like for you?” Joe inquired, taking a gulp of his hot chocolate and leaving a frothy moustache above his upper lip. 

“Mostly just work,” you shrugged. “I guess I’ll go back to Ontario for Easter to visit my folks, if they aren’t going to visit my sister in Winnipeg. Other than that, I haven’t made any real plans.” The hospital kept you busy enough, as they had been short-staffed after recent government budget cuts – you’d never really had any reason to take time off. 

“Well, what if I flew you out to New York to visit me in a few weeks?” he suggested, reaching for your hand. “I know you’d have to book some time off, but I was thinking that I have a bit of a break from shooting the show in April. I could take you around the city, show you all the places I like to hang out, eat some real pizza…” 

His eyes were hopeful as he watched you process his plan. If you were honest, the idea was scary; it had been ages since you’d been on a trip, and you’d _never_ done any sort of long distance relationship. Joe seemed eager and excited about the whole thing, but something in your heart made you feel nervous. 

“You’d…you’d really want to see me again after you go home?” you quavered, meeting his eyes. “Joe, you’re an actor. How could we make this work?” His face fell, but he quickly pasted on an understanding expression. 

“We could call and text each other, like most people do these days,” he offered. “FaceTime is a thing, too. We’d talk throughout the day like we do now.” You nodded, realizing that he was right. A lot of people did long distance, at least in the short-term. “And like I said, I can come back to Calgary for a while once I’ve finished this show I’m working on. The shoot will take around 3 months, I’d guess, but we’ll have some breaks between then if you wanted to come and visit me. I’d even bring you onset, you could see how things are done in the biz.” 

The more you thought about it, the more you loved the idea. These last few weeks had been the best of your life, if you were being honest with yourself. Joe was someone that brightened your day, and meshed well with your interests and lifestyle. Maybe it was time you took a look into his life to see if you fit well into his day-to-day happenings. 

“Joe, you’re amazing,” you began, “really, truly amazing. You’ve made my life better in a million ways since I’ve met you.” Being the perceptive person he is, Joe heard the hint of doubt in your voice. 

“But?” he sighed, smiling sadly. 

“But…I’ve had my heart broken before, and I don’t know if I can do that again. Especially when you’re you.” His eyebrows knit together in confusion. 

“When I’m me?” 

“You’re perfect,” you huffed, exasperated. “Everything about you is perfect. You’re sweet and kind and respectful, you say and do all the right things. I’m just…scared.” 

“Me too,” Joe confided, brushing his fingers over the tops of your knuckles. “I haven’t been serious with someone in a long time. Not since my girlfriend cheated on me.” 

“I’m so sorry,” you murmured, reaching out to touch his cheek. “I didn’t know.” 

“That’s behind me now,” he said, shaking his head as if this hadn’t been a major challenge in his life. “I’m scared as hell, Y/N. But I figure that if something is worth going after, it can’t be easy. As Roger Taylor would say,” he smirked, “most of the best things ain’t free. What I’m saying is…I’m willing to give this thing a shot if you are.” The warmth and affection in his eyes made your heart melt in your chest; how could you say no to this man? 

“Okay, then yes,” you nodded confidently. Even if there was still a flicker of doubt in your mind, Joe had convinced you that the worst thing you could do was miss out on something great by not being brave enough to give it a go. 

“You mean it?” he asked, his eyes wide and sparkling. 

“I mean it,” you repeated, mirroring his bright smile. He stood up from his seat and leaned over the table towards you, nearly knocking over his mug of cocoa as he kissed you. The musician onstage caught this little exchange from the corner of his eye, and dedicated his next song to ‘that cute couple in the corner who need to get a room’. 

“We’ll make it work, babe, I promise,” Joe told you on your walk back to your apartment. “It’ll be tough, but somehow, it’ll all turn out fine in the end.” 

* * * * * 

At the airport, Ben had given you a huge hug before going through security. Well, Joe had to press a hand against his back to make sure he would fall over, but it was still a great hug. 

“Thanks for everything you’ve done for our boy, Y/N,” Ben had whispered to you. “See you when you come to visit me in London.” He said this as if it were a sure thing. Maybe he had a sixth sense about these sorts of things; you certainly wouldn’t say no to traipsing around the UK with your handsome man. Ben went ahead through airport security by himself, giving you and Joe as private a moment as one can have in the middle of the Calgary airport. 

“This is it,” Joe swallowed, holding both your hands in his. “Either I’ll call you when we land, or Ben and I both die in a fiery plane crash and are posthumously hailed as underappreciated actors.” You rolled your eyes, knowing that his dark comment was a coping mechanism. He didn’t want to leave you, that much was clear. 

“You’re taking my heart with you, Joey, so don’t you let it get wrecked in a plane crash,” you said sternly. “Even Canadians only have one heart, you know.” Joe wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, sniffling back a tear. 

“Sorry if I seem like a crybaby right now,” he apologized, his voice thick, “but I’m really going to miss you, babe.” He wrapped you in a tight embrace, tucking your head beneath his chin. Somehow, his emotions were getting to _you_ , one of the nurses who controlled their feelings best, in the opinion of your coworkers. 

“Okay, go after Ben before he falls and breaks another leg,” you encouraged, looking up at your sweet redheaded boy. “I’ll see you soon, alright? That’s our consolation.” 

“If you don’t call me the moment you finish your shift tonight, I know where you live, and I will hunt you down,” Joe replied sternly. He pressed his mouth against yours, kissing you hard as if this were the last time you’d see each other. It wouldn’t be, you both knew, but the idea of falling asleep alone tonight hurt something fierce, and he wasn’t about to walk away without letting you know the strength of his affections towards you. 

“Bye for now, love,” your voice trembled when he pulled away. 

“It’s only a month,” he replied, popping a quick kiss on your forehead. As he walked towards security, he looked back at you no fewer than eight times, and it was clear that he was fighting back tears. The security agent regarded him sympathetically, watching is Joe waved one final goodbye to you. You blew him a kiss, which he held to his cheek when he ‘caught’ it. 

Once he was out of sight, you returned to your vehicle and took off towards your house, knowing you had limited time to shower and get changed into your scrubs for your evening shift. You hoped you wouldn’t be a mess all evening; your patients needed and deserved a nurse who was focused on their needs instead of her own wants. 

On your supper break, you checked your phone to see that Joe had sent you a bunch of “I miss you already” texts, as well as a lovely collection of selfies featuring him and one drooling, open-mouthed Ben, who had fallen fast asleep on their 4.5-hour flight. In the photo series, Joe pretended to give his friend a sip of his soda, applied some cherry chapstick to the blonde’s lips, and laid his head on his friend’s shoulder, pretending to be asleep as well. 

**Miss you too, love** , you responded, adding about 95 crying emojis. Joe was rather fond of emojis, you’d discovered over the past few weeks, and now you found yourself using them all time. After tossing back some leftovers from the late-night meal you and Joe had thrown together the night before, you returned to your unit and finished your shift without any major complications. 

The hardest part of the day was, without a doubt, getting into bed alone at the end of the night. Joe had been sleeping over for a week, even though you hadn’t technically ‘slept together’ until that morning. You missed the warmth of his body beside you, the soft little snores he made when he slept on his back, and curling into his arms before shutting your eyes. This was going to be much harder than you thought. 

At what would have been 3:00am in New York time, your phone buzzed, lighting up on the nightstand beside you. 

**Hardest night of my life** , Joe texted. **Not sure I can wait a whole month to see you.**

**Maybe if you closed your eyes, you’d fall asleep faster,** you suggested snarkily. 

**That attitude tells me you’re lonely too.**

******Of course I am, I miss you.******

********

********

The theme to Law & Order began playing on your phone, and you saw that Joe was attempting to call you. 

“Hey you,” you answered, your heart jumping in your chest. “How’s it going?” 

“Terrible,” he groaned. “I’ve got my mind on this girl, and I can’t stop thinking about her.” You smiled, deciding to play along in a little game. 

“What’s she like?” 

“Mary Poppins,” he replied, confusing you. You repeated his words to him, not sure why he had decided to use the character as a description for you. 

“You’re just like her: practically perfect in every way,” he murmured happily. “Sorry, I went to visit my nephews when I got back to the city, and they were watching it for the thousandth time this week, according to my brother.” 

“Joe, this is so painful,” you moaned into the receiver. “What if I just tell my manager that I’ve died, and then I can come to New York and follow you around? I’ll get you coffee and rub your feet – it’ll be the perfect arrangement. I could be your assistant.” 

“I know, babe. I know,” he yawned, his lack of sleep finally catching up with him. “Hopefully time will fly by, and you’ll be here beside me before we know it.” You doubted this, knowing your tendency to dwell on the things you were waiting for. 

“I should let you get to bed,” you said softly, as if you had been the one to initiate the call. 

“Just needed the last thing I heard today to be your voice,” he confessed. Your heart thudded beneath your ribs, swelling with love for him. 

“Well, then,” you smiled, “yours better be the first thing I hear in the morning.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've really had fun with this fic, so I think I'll continue it for a while. Next update, reader will head to New York to visit Joe!


	4. New York - Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long month of being apart, Joe flies you out to NYC for a 2-week vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place in a relatively short period of time, but I liked writing it because I felt it was important to cover some interesting parts of NYC living (as I understand it). Next chap. will show all the cute stuff Joe and Reader do during their time together!

Less than half an hour after take-off, you were reminded of your hatred for flying. The plane, which you referred to in your head as a glorified aluminium can, jerked around in the sky, completely at the mercy of changing air temperatures and wind currents. The man beside you appeared completely unfazed, with his headphones popped into his ears as he watched an in-flight movie. You, however, were clutching the armrests of your chair as if your very life depended on it. Whether it was a rational thought or not, you felt that if you let go, the plane would surely lose engine function and spiral down towards the earth – where you and the other hundred or so passengers would die in a fiery explosion in some unfortunate farmer’s field.

“Miss, can I get you anything to drink?” A matronly flight attendant had appeared at your side, wheeling the snack and beverage cart down the aisle. Your gaze snapped up toward her, and you saw her expression change to one of boredom to that of sympathy. 

“Just water,” you squeaked through clenched teeth. After taking a moment to think about it, you decided that a bit of alcohol might help you to settle in a bit more. The flight from Calgary to New York City was supposed to be another four hours in length, and you knew it wouldn’t be ideal for you to spend the entire time panicking. “And, um, two glasses of something red, please.” 

“Sure thing, honey,” the kindly flight attendant smiled, opening the drawer containing the individual wine servings. She went to pour one of the little bottles into a plastic cup for you, but you quickly waved a hand to stop her. 

“I’m fine with the bottles,” you said, feeling the tremor in your hand as you reached out to take the two small bottles from the stewardess. She raised an eyebrow curiously but handed them over anyway. 

“Pretzels, peanuts or cookies?” she asked, passing you a napkin. Your jittery hands made her nervous that you’d spill red wine all over your crisp, white blouse, which you’d bought earlier that week in anticipation for your trip to visit Joe. 

“What do you think will settle my stomach the most?” you inquired, realizing that there was a bit of a swirly feeling building in your belly. You’d never been sick on a flight before, but you strongly believed there was a first time for everything. 

“Definitely pretzels,” the woman assured you. Ignoring the incredulous look of the passengers in the seats beside you, she handed you four or five small bags of pretzels. “Don’t eat them too fast, now,” she instructed, “just have a few at a time. The bathroom’s just a few rows back if you need, and there’s a bag in the seat pocket in front of you if it’s an emergency.” She patted you gently on the arm before turning her attention to the man seated to your right. 

Fishing a few mini pretzels out and popping them into your mouth, you closed your eyes and leaned your head against the seat's headrest, continuing to clutch at the armrests. Every few minutes, you took another gulp of wine, appreciating the warmth of the alcohol as it slipped down your throat. In no time at all, you felt much more settled but still had to contend with the non-plane related anxiety that was circling your brain. You played through a scenario in your head where Joe forgot to pick you up from the airport, and instead, you were forced to trudge down a Brooklyn street in the dark, with no idea where to go. After the second little bottle of wine, you were drowsy enough to nod off, to the mild annoyance of the man beside you whose shoulder served as a pillow for the duration of your two-hour nap. 

* * * * * 

Your heart leapt with relief as you caught sight of Joe, holding a sign brightly decorated with your name, at the baggage claim. When you made it to the bottom of the escalator, he swept you into a tight hug, followed by a passionate kiss. He gave no thought to anyone else around you; all he cared about was that you had arrived safely, and were finally back in his arms after nearly a month apart. 

“Look at you,” he crowed, “my beautiful girl. How was the flight?” He slung an arm around your shoulders and guided you through the busy terminal to the correct baggage claim. The plane crew was still unloading and transporting its cargo, so you had a few minutes to chat before you would need to devote your attention to finding the bright yellow suitcase you’d checked in Calgary. 

“Didn’t throw up or die, so it was a win,” you said, pressing your lips together as you thought over the incredible discomfort you had felt for the first leg of the flight. “Really, I drank two glasses of wine and was out cold for half the flight, so that’s why I didn’t throw up or die.” Joe threw his head back and laughed, appreciating your choice of coping mechanism. 

“I’m glad to see you walking in a straight line, then,” he teased, planting a kiss against the side of your head. “We’ll take a cab back to my apartment once we’ve got your bag, and then we can get some real food into that tummy of yours.” As you looked up to admire your handsome, redheaded boyfriend, you accidentally made eye contact with a woman around your age, who was watching the two of you intently. She held her iPhone up and snapped a photo, not caring whether you’d seen her do it or not. 

“Joe,” you frowned, pulling away from him slightly, “someone just took a photo of us. Is that…normal?” Joe sighed gently, pulling you against his chest and holding you a bit tighter. 

“Ever since I was in BoRhap, people have been recognizing me more often,” he explained. “Sometimes people take pictures, but it’s usually not a huge deal. Fans, mostly. I’ve managed to avoid the paparazzi for the most part, unlike Rami and Lucy.” His expression turned sour, remembering an incident his friends had told him about, where they were harassed by some guy intent on getting a photo and a comment. 

Rami had kept his cool until the man put a hand on Lucy’s arm, at which point the actor gave the photographer a stern telling-off in the middle of a busy NYC intersection. He didn’t care if paparazzi took photos when he was alone, but Rami couldn’t stand seeing his girlfriend being disrespected, and you knew Joe to be the same way. 

“So, should we be careful in public, then?” you wondered. “About PDA, I mean. If people take pictures, do you want that kind of thing out there on the internet for your grandma to see?” With a smirk, Joe leaned in for a long, languorous kiss. 

“I hope _everyone_ that sees us can tell how much I enjoy being with you,” he said, resting his chin atop your head. “As long as we’re dressed, and no one is rude to you, I don’t care much about the photos.” Your cheeks flushed pink at the idea of naked photos of you or Joe circulating; you were sure your parents or worse, your employer, would have something to say about that. 

The light atop the baggage carousel began to flash, indicating that in just a few seconds, luggage would begin to slide down onto the rotating belt. You pecked Joe on the cheek and laced your fingers through his, pulling him closer to the carousel so that when your bag came around, one of you could grab it. To your delight, your bag was one of the first to arrive. You were feeling a bit worn out by your travel, and just wanted to crawl into bed beside Joe, veg out, and watch the episodes of _Cops_ he had recorded in anticipation of your visit. 

“How’s the weather been?” you asked, squeezing Joe’s hand as a thank you; he insisted upon pulling your suitcase behind him instead of making you do it. 

“Rainy, kinda chilly, the usual,” he shrugged. “Better than your weather, that’s for sure. I have Calgary on my weather app, and sometimes I check to see what your day’s looking like. There was a snowstorm last week, I saw!” You nodded, releasing a heavy sigh as you thought about how much you hated the weather in western Canada. When you’d lived in Ottawa, the temperature and storms had been much milder than the ones you’d experienced during your time in Calgary. 

“I packed my jacket, just in case,” you told him, coming to a stop at the edge of the sidewalk outside the airport entrance. “I’d hate to come all the way here just to freeze my bum off like I do at home.” Joe raised a hand, and a cab slid up in front of you. The cabbie, a middle-aged man with a thick Pakistani accent, opened the trunk and helped Joe with your bag. Once the two of you were settled in the back of the cab, Joe gave the address of his building, while you watched out the window to see if you could locate any popular landmarks. 

“Is this your first time in the city, Miss?” the driver addressed you, meeting your eyes in the rearview mirror. 

“It is,” you nodded. “My boyfriend lives here, but I’m visiting from Calgary, in Canada.” The driver’s eyes lit up at the mention of the city. 

“My brother and his wife moved to Calgary when we all came from Pakistan 10 years ago,” he enthused; glad to have something in common with you. “My family goes to visit when we can, but because my father is growing older now, it is much harder to go all the way there.” You and Joe took turns asking the man questions, now curious to know more about his life as an immigrant. 

By the end of the drive, you had learned that he and his wife decided to come to America to seek better opportunities, but that he had been an engineer back in Pakistan. His degree hadn’t transferred over to the United States, however, so he and his wife both worked long hours, he as a cabbie and she as a nurse’s aide, to support their three children. 

“So they didn’t even let you take tests to see if you knew all the things you’d need to work here in the US?” Joe asked, frowning. “And your wife was a doctor, but now she’s not even allowed to hand out a Tylenol to a patient now?” He appeared genuinely distressed by the cabbie’s story; this didn’t seem fair at all. 

“There have been many challenges since we came here,” the man admitted, attempting to keep up his chipper attitude. “But we are grateful for the life we’ve been able to build here. Last year, we were able to bring my father over from Pakistan to live with us. After my mother died, he was not able to care for himself. My wife works part-time so she can be there for him when he needs help with washing, toileting, and such.” Your eyes widened; being a caregiver to an ageing parent was no simple task. As a nurse, you’d met many women who had given up their careers entirely to provide personal care for family members. Your own mother had done so when her mom was diagnosed with dementia; you had a lot of respect for people like her – it was an enormous commitment, and could really drain a person. 

As the cab drove over the Queensboro Bridge, the cabbie, whose name you had discovered to be Farhaan after seeing the photo of his cab license attached to the dashboard, pointed out landmarks and buildings that may be of interest to you. The bridge stretched across the East River, he said, and had first opened 110 years ago. He shared a few other tidbits about the bridge, his interest being based in his previous career as a civil engineer. 

“Thanks for the ride, sir,” Joe said appreciatively when the car stopped outside his high-rise. “And thank you for sharing your story with us. I’m sorry that people in positions of power haven’t given you and your wife the credit you deserve for the work you did back home.” Joe bit his lip and glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “I’m not sure that I can do much, but I want to look into what I _can_ do to make this kind of issue more visible. You’re a hard-working American, and you should be able to use your skills and be paid fairly for them.” 

The cabbie shook Joe’s hand again, and the two continued to chat for a few minutes. Joe tipped him generously once your bag had been retrieved from the trunk of the cab. You both waved as Farhaan drove off in his cab, and received an enthusiastic wave out the window in return. 

“Wow,” Joe sighed, taking your hand. “That really brought me back down to earth. I sure take a lot for granted.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead and led you up the sidewalk and into his building. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head; Joe was going to use whatever influence he had to do something about this issue, and it would surely be more than a sympathetic tweet. 

“Afternoon, Joe,” his doorman greeted him, drawing Joe’s attention momentarily from his train of thought. The man’s hands were clad in white gloves, a concept entirely foreign to you. You were certain that no building in Calgary had a doorman; in fact, you only knew about them from movies that took place in New York. 

The doorman was dressed smartly in a double-breasted suit jacket and bow tie. In comparison, Joe was in jeans, a pair of white sneakers, and had a letterman-style jacket over his blue t-shirt. The two beside each other made a peculiar pair, and yet one was a resident of the building, and the other an employee. You decided immediately that New York was a ridiculous city. 

“How’s it going, Al?” Joe replied, reaching out to shake the man’s hand. 

“No complaints,” the short man answered, clasping Joe’s hand in his. “This must be the young lady you were telling me about, the Canadian?” 

“The one and only,” Joe grinned, turning to you. “This is Y/N. She’ll be staying a couple of weeks, so I’m sure you’ll be seeing her around a fair bit.” 

“You have bright eyes, just like Joe,” the doorman complimented you as he shook your hand. “Welcome here. Joe tells me you’re a nurse, like my _hija_ , Manuela. She works at New York Presbyterian in the children’s hospital.” You snuck a glance at Joe, who shrugged innocently. A mischievous smile played over his lips a moment later, though; of course he would have shared this fact with the doorman. Joe knew how much you wanted to work with kids. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Al,” you said cheerfully. “Everyone I’ve met in New York so far has been incredibly kind, and you’re no exception.” With a smile, the doorman took your bag and wheeled it toward the elevator. 

“Did I miss anything fun today?” Joe inquired, pressing the call button for the elevator. “Al is the eyes and ears of this place, so he never misses anything. One time, a lady went into labour, and while they waited for their Uber, she gave birth on the floor of the lobby. It was wild.” You’d heard of women giving birth in taxis or on their living room floor, but the lobby of an apartment building was a new one. 

“That’s insane,” you exclaimed. “How do you even deal with that?” 

“Crowd control, mostly,” Al remarked casually, as if he had handled that sort of situation dozens of times. “Fire department arrived to help her out, and I redirected visitors to a different door. Delivered a healthy baby boy right over there.” He pointed at a patterned rug a few feet away. “But no, nothing of that sort today, just the usual: packages and parcels to deliver, ex-boyfriends to keep an eye out for.” 

A gentle _ding_ sounded as the elevator door slid open, and Al wheeled your suitcase to the back of it before stepping out and holding the door for you and Joe. 

“Enjoy your afternoon,” he bid, nodding to the two of you. You lifted your hand in a slight wave, which the doorman responded to by crinkling his eyes in a gentle smile. Once the doors closed, Joe pulled you into another hug and held you against him, savouring the feeling of your body in his arms. You slid your arms beneath his jacket and wrapped them around his waist. 

“I really freaking missed you,” he groaned. “I thought a month would fly by, but seriously, that was the longest four weeks of my life.” The elevator began to travel upwards, and the movement jostled you and Joe slightly as you clung to each other. 

“Work has never been slower,” you nodded against his chest. “I’m so happy to be here with you now, though.” Joe cleared his throat to get your attention, and you looked up just in time for him to lean in and kiss you full on the mouth. He certainly wasn’t beating around the bush, you noted, smiling against his lips as he pressed you against the back wall of the elevator. A loud beep sounded, and you broke away from each other, laughing when you realized that you had accidentally leaned against the button panel. 

“Look at that,” he teased, “now we have a good long time in here, just you and I. We can do whatever we want.” You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend, but allowed yourself to be swept back into his arms. Joe’s hands crept playfully beneath the front of your shirt, but his movement quickly became more serious; you let out a breathy moan against his mouth as he slipped a thumb beneath the underwire of your bra. 

As the elevator stopped on Joe’s floor, an older couple stepped into the elevator car without either of you noticing – they lived a few doors down from Joe, and recognized him as a neighbour. The woman brushed a lock of platinum hair out of her face and glanced up at her husband with a knowing look; in their youth, they had found themselves in a similar position after having been separated by distance for several months. Her husband, a balding man with a bristly moustache and sweet eyes, cleared his throat to get your attention. 

“Oh!” you shrieked, pulling away from Joe in embarrassment. Your cheeks flamed, and your heart was racing; you’d never been one for PDA, and now you felt as if you’d scarred this poor couple. Joe smoothed a hand down the front of his shirt, which you had been clenching tight to as you kissed; he recognized his neighbours immediately as a couple he had thought quite conservative. It appeared, however, that they were both amused by the situation. 

“Sorry, we, uh…” Joe attempted, trailing off as he realized he had no excuse to give. Truly, you had both been caught up in the moment and hadn’t noticed the door behind you slide open. 

“Just thought you might be getting off here,” the man spoke, trying to suppress a laugh. “Your floor and all.” 

“Yeah, uh…yes. Thanks, man,” Joe stammered, latching onto your wrist with his fingers. “We’re just going to go now.” You followed him out into the hall, and heard a peal of laughter erupt from the elevator car as soon as you’d rounded the corner. 

“That…was possibly the most awkward ending to an elevator ride I’ve ever experienced,” you expressed, leaning with your back against the wall while you caught your breath. Joe set his hands on your hips and rested his forehead on your shoulder; he let out a long groan. 

“I’m gonna have to see those people again,” he lamented. “Every time we make eye contact from here on out, they’re just going to think, ‘Oh hey, there’s that guy who was feeling his girlfriend up in the elevator,’ and I’ll have to move out of the building and change my name to avoid the ridicule.” 

“I think that’s a bit dramatic,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “At least, the moving out part; you seem like you’ve got a pretty nice thing going here.” Joe’s hair smelled of some fancy hair product you probably couldn’t afford, but that reminded you of the weeks he’d spent curled up on your sofa in Calgary, watching bad sitcoms and peppering your cheeks with kisses. 

“You haven’t even seen my apartment yet,” he murmured. “Not sure we’ll be able to get the whole sexy time vibes back for a while, but I can at least give you a tour of my _humble abode_.” You smirked at his comment; it was pretty unlikely that Joe, who had done multiple film and television projects with Stephen Spielberg himself, had what most people would consider a simple living space. 

“I suppose you’d better show me before I fall asleep,” you warned. “My layover was ridiculously long, and I had to be up at 4:00am for my flight; I’m pretty tired.” Joe raised his head from your shoulder and took a good look at your face. He might not admit it, but there was no doubt in your mind that your hair was a bit greasy; later, you’d joke that the bags beneath your eyes had nearly cost you an extra $25 to check at the airport, they were so heavy. 

“I think there might possibly be a pull-out couch with your name on it in my living room,” Joe hummed, taking your hand in his. “Might have even washed the sheets for you. I’m such a nice guy, aren’t I?” 

“That’s why I keep you,” you replied, falling in step beside him. Eager to see his apartment, but apprehensive at the idea of being overwhelmed by Joe’s posh New York lifestyle, you allowed him to lead you down the hall to the last door on the left. 

“So, I’ve been here about 2 years now,” Joe explained, digging his key from his pocket, “and I think I’ve finally got everything arranged the way I like it.” When his sweet brown eyes met yours, you realized how excited he was to share this piece of his life with you. 

The first thing you noticed when he flicked on the light switch was the vintage gramophone, set up on a table between two comfortable-looking brown leather sofas. His walls were painted a soft shade of green, and on each hung framed promotional posters from the projects he’d been involved with. His fridge was visible from the door, and even from afar, you could see the photos and drawings he’d taped to it, probably gifts from his nephews. Everything about the place was classy – and matched what you knew about Joe as a person. 

“I love it already,” you enthused, stepping out of your shoes. Joe stood at the door and watched as you explored the main area, as curious as if you were a brand new kitten he’d just brought home for the first time. “It’s so…you.” 

“You love it because it’s ‘so me’?” Joe inquired. 

“Well, I love you, and you made this place into what you want in a home, so of course I love it,” you told him. “It’s perfect – warm and cozy, perfect for spending a night watching Netflix and eating takeout on the couch, but also for hosting classy gatherings will all your fancy actor pals.” Joe snorted at this; he didn’t really consider any of his close friends to be particularly fancy. Rami was the closest to the word, with his Oscar and Emmy awards, and snappy way of dressing. 

“I’ll have you know that I own the world’s most comfortable couch,” he bragged, sauntering over to where you stood, examining the signed poster from his directorial debut, _Undrafted_. Joe snuck a hand beneath your left arm, and without warning, swept your knees out from under you with his other arm. You let out a panicked screech, but settled when you realized that he’d just lifted you into his arms as if he were a storybook prince. 

“What are you doing?” you giggled, slinging an arm around his shoulders. He adjusted your weight in his arms and carried you over to the sofa. 

“Making you try out my couch,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. “Once you’ve taken a seat on this baby, you’ll never leave New York again.” 

“Ah,” you nodded, seeing where he was going with this. “So, you’re trying to seduce me with your nice furniture and fancy hospitals into staying here with you as long as I can?” Joe’s eyes lit up mischievously; this was his plan exactly. 

“That may or may not be what I’m doing,” he laughed, setting you down sideways on the sofa. “Let me know whether it’s working or not.” With your head leaned on the armrest like a pillow, Joe gently pried your knees apart and lowered himself down towards you, supporting his weight on either side of your body with his arms. For a minute or two, he kissed every bit of exposed skin he could find, his lips ghosting so gently over your skin that you cried out with laughter. 

“Joey, that tickles!” you screeched, trying to wiggle out from underneath him. To your surprise, Joe stopped as soon as you asked, and instead shifted himself so that he was resting his head against your chest. You were still breathing heavily from his tickling, and he appeared engrossed in the hammering of your heartbeat, in the way your chest rose and fell beneath him. He was quiet now, allowing the two of you to just sit and enjoy the intimate moment. For a time, you wondered if maybe you should ask him for a tour of the rest of the flat, but decided against it; you were tired after your flight, and the position he’d manoeuvred you into was incredibly comfortable. You drifted off, knowing you’d be safe in Joe’s embrace. 

* * * * * 

Once your breathing had slowed, Joe wondered if perhaps you had fallen asleep. He glanced up towards your face and saw that your eyes were closed, the lids fluttering gently in dream. A smile crept across his lips – there was no moving to the bedroom now. He was stuck for the night with your arms wrapped tightly over his back – and he didn’t mind it a bit. The past month without you had truly been some of the longest days of his life, so the minute he saw you at the airport, he had felt instant relief. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured tenderly, closing his own eyes for the night. “Sleep tight, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic about any of the BoRhap boys, instead of their characters, so hopefully, I did an okay job capturing the chaotic ball of joy and energy that Joe Mazzello is. Let me know what you think in the comments!


End file.
